


The heart off guard

by jspringsteen



Category: The Irishman - Fandom
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jspringsteen/pseuds/jspringsteen
Summary: I’d promised to be a part of his fight, of his history. "Whatever you need me to do, I’m available." From that night on, I could never look at a door that wasn’t quite shut without thinking of Jimmy.
Relationships: Frank Sheeran/Jimmy Hoffa
Comments: 17
Kudos: 211





	The heart off guard

“Hold my hand in yours, and we will not fear what hands like ours can do.”  
 _The Epic of Gilgamesh_ , translated by Danny P. Jackson.

~

Jimmy, he didn’t make me stay in his suite because he liked me. He made me stay in his suite because he didn’t want me registering my name at the hotel. This way, there was no proof I was even in Chicago.

I put my revolver on the chair, within arm’s reach from the bed, then sat down and loosened my tie. My thoughts drifted to the war, prompted by what Jimmy had just told me. Guys like him always thought they grasped the essence of war without ever having been in it. Going from A to B. Only two sides: Nazis with their collaborators, and us, the good guys. It was a naive way of looking at it, but then again, there was something to be said for it. At least it justified some of the things I’d done.

I looked at the doors leading into his bedroom, which he’d left open. For a minute I just sat there, staring at the dark crack between the white paneled doors through which Jimmy had just disappeared in his blue pajamas. It puzzled me. Surely a man of his stature would want the privacy of his own bedroom when hosting a nobody like me, especially one he didn’t know very well yet.

I began taking off my shoes and the rest of my clothes while I thought about it. I replayed the moment in my mind now over and over like a film reel. I thought I’d seen some hesitation in the way he’d hovered between the doors, as if he normally shut them all the way but now, for some reason, stopped himself. Maybe I should be flattered – his way of showing me he trusted me not to kill him in his sleep. Or maybe it was a test. Might be he’d wake up in the middle of the night on some pretext or other, fake a heart attack or something, to see if I’d come to his aid and how quickly I would get there. It was an eccentric way to test someone’s loyalty, sure, but if there was one thing I’d learned about these guys, it was that eccentricity and loyalty were cardinal virtues with them.

I put on my own pajamas and climbed into bed. The mattress was springy, yet firm; the sheets smelled lightly of lavender, and triggered memories of childhood holidays spent at my grandma’s house in County Clare. I folded my arms behind my head and lay staring at the ceiling for a while, mentally walking through that old house and reliving the memories I made there. By and by, I glanced at the black chink while holding my breath, so as to be as quiet as possible. I strained to hear Jimmy breathing, snoring, or just turning in his bed. Nothing. It occurred to me that he might be doing the same thing. It’s just another way of finding out what a person is like without asking them directly. If you get somebody who tosses and turns a lot, starts blabbing other people’s secrets or wakes up screaming from nightmares, you know what you got. Obviously not someone who’s supposed to never even have been in a certain place. You want someone as silent as the grave, with control over his outbursts, except when he needs to make a scene.

I liked Jimmy. He was funny and brash, yet caring, in a fatherly sort of way. He had a way of making you feel like you were the center of the universe, would stop you if you were expressing your insecurity about something and make sure you knew he had total faith in you. I hadn’t fucked anything up yet, of course, and I wasn’t planning to. He seemed the kind of guy who had a fragile ego, and would take any mistake, even accidental ones, very personal indeed. Luckily Glimco had as good as presented me to Jimmy on a golden platter. I could do no wrong in his eyes for a while yet.

The black rectangle began to blur as my eyes began to droop. I turned off the light and lay down on my side, and drifted off almost immediately.

~

I woke up, instinctively, feeling something was off. The mattress was dipping near my feet, as if someone were sitting on it. Sure enough, when I rolled over on my other side, I saw Jimmy perched on the edge of the bed, looking at me. I quickly sat up and turned on the light.

“Everything okay, Jimmy? What’s the matter?”

He shook his head and waved his hand. “Nothin’, nothin’. Calm down.”

I sat up straighter, staring at him with curiosity as to what his explanation would be. He looked me straight in the eye for a few seconds, then looked away, as if embarrassed. I waited.

He said, “You know why I left those doors open, Frank?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t want there to be any barriers between us,” he continued. “You and me, we’re the same. My door’s always open to you, as yours should be to me. No secrets. Only trust, and honesty. Alright?”

I nodded. I thought it was a strange time and a strange way for making the point, but I didn’t say so. He obviously had a flair for the dramatic.

“I understand,” I said.

He nodded, looking at me. “I thought you would,” he said. He didn’t lower his eyes; instead, his gaze seemed to search, to prod, for a follow-up comment on my side, but I didn’t know what he wanted me to say.

“Now, I don’t know you very well yet, Frank,” he said, “but you seem to me like a discreet kinda fella. Am I right?”

I nodded.

“Loyal, too. And open-minded. Are ya? Open-minded?”

I nodded again. Even if I hadn’t been, was I in a position to say no? I saw how his face lit up when Glimco sung my praises about overseeing this eve of destruction. I’d thought it wise to keep my eyes down and give him the opportunity to size me up, and conclude that I was modest but pragmatic, and not afraid to take risks. Seems I succeeded.

He regarded me steadily. “Do you know why I really left those doors open?” he asked.

He nodded to the bedroom. With one hand he fingered the lapel of his pajama jacket, so innocuously it might have escaped my notice if he hadn’t given me a knowing look while doing so. I connected the dots very quickly, and had to fight to keep my expression under control. Of all the reasons why he might have left them open, _that_ one hadn’t yet occurred to me.

“Is this, uh…” I tried my best to keep my voice neutral, inquisitive. “This a regular trial by fire for new associates?”

He laughed out loud, then shook his head. “No, Frank. And I wouldn’t respect any man trying to curry favor with me in that way, depend on it.”

He continued to chuckle to himself. I waited, as the realization of what was happening began to dawn on me. Jimmy Hoffa was coming on to me. I was flattered – he was an attractive man, still, at his age. I wouldn’t have pictured him for a queer, but then, you never know, do you? His wife probably knew about it, was okay with it, had her own affairs on the side, that’s how these things go.

“It’s about trust,” Jimmy said. “I like you, Frank, but I need to know if I can trust you.”

I didn’t need to guess at how hard he must have worked to keep this side of himself under control, to airbrush it out of his public image – not to mention how difficult it must be to find people he could trust with his secret. I guess when you live your life like that you become extra sensitive to coded signals of like-minded people. I wouldn’t necessarily have put myself into that category, but he was right… I was open-minded. And to be the favorite of a person who has the admiration of everyone; to have that kind of power over one of the most powerful men in the country; to be singled out by him as the object of his special affection is a feeling I dare anyone to try and resist. I know I couldn’t.

I wasn’t afraid of Jimmy Hoffa. At most, I feared that I would come up short of his expectations, and throw the standing I had achieved with him out of the window. I had to tread carefully.

He was watching me ruminate with an ironic smile. “Don’t overthink it, Frank,” he said. “It’s a yes or no kinda question. You ain’t gotta do nothin' you don’t want to. I respect you far too much for that. Besides, I wanna keep working with you. That can’t happen if we’re to split over a little something like this. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded. My mouth was dry. I thought of Reenie and the kids, and what would happen should they ever find out. But they wouldn’t – they couldn’t. Jimmy would take it to his grave, as would I. He was watching me still, then, seeing that I’d made up my mind, casually placed his hand on the bed covers over my ankle, next to where he was sitting. He didn’t look at me as he slowly began to rub my ankle, back and forth, then all the way upwards to my calf, my knee. I felt lightning pass through all my nerve endings at his slow but insistent touch, and I thought of Reenie again, who, bless her heart, usually dispensed with the formalities and got straight down to business. To go slow, draw it out, was not something I was used to, but Jimmy’s gentle movements seemed to unlock something inside me. For some reason it put me in mind of sharing a sleeping bag with my friends when out camping as a teenager, or even feeling the body heat of the guy next to me in a foxhole during the artillery barrages at Anzio. There seemed to be a want there that Jimmy was answering, and it scared me, because I hadn’t noticed it before.

I had been looking at his hand creating ripples on the blue bedspread and then smoothing them over, and when I looked back up I met his gaze, which was quietly triumphant. I felt like my face was an open book, and suddenly _did_ feel afraid of what would happen if I somehow offended him. You gotta be careful with men who are used to getting their way, even if they like you. Especially if they like you.

Sensing my hesitation, Jimmy took his hand off my leg, letting it hover above it for a few seconds before replacing it in his lap. I threw back the covers and moved to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, happy to be out of my prostrate position. He watched me, passing his tongue over his bottom lip once. I closed my eyes, and held my breath as he leaned in and kissed me on my cheek; lingered, then moved to the other cheek, in an imitation of the intimate gesture with which these patriarchs greeted each other. It was a sign of trust and respect, and I liked it – it was the complete opposite of the wild recoil from another man’s touch I had learned from my own father, uncles, and friends. There was something biblical about it, too. Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss; it was proof of a bond so strong that betraying it was like betraying a lover, so that you _would_ think twice before doing it. And at the same time, the closer you are, the easier it becomes to slip a silent knife between their ribs.

Finally, he kissed me on the mouth. I could tell he was reining in his trademark fervor so as not to scare me off. It felt a little strange to be kissing someone without the additional taste of lipstick or the smell of perfume overpowering my senses. He just tasted human, sweet saliva and the tang of toothpaste. I opened my mouth and let him slip in his tongue, feeling the puffs of hot air from his nose on my cheek. He was as smooth a kisser as he was a talker.

We broke the kiss after a while, and sat in silence for a minute while our foreheads rested against one another. He had put one arm around my shoulder, which he left there, and with his thumb ran circles on my shoulder blade.

“So that’s it,” he said, with a grin that was almost rakish. “You just wanted to be in control, huh?”

I grinned back, feeling myself flush, more with the victory of conquest than embarrassment. I entwined his fingers with mine.

“I’ll put you in control,” he whispered, “of anything you like. You don’t gotta answer to anybody else.”

I let a strategic pause fall, then I said:

“I did wonder why you left the doors open. I didn’t even think you liked me very much.”

He smiled. “Well, that's just not true.”

We kissed again, still in that slow, discovering way. It seemed as if we were both ready to break it off any time, as if we were expecting to be interrupted, except it was the middle of the night and there was no one to get in our way. He began stroking me through my pajama pants, so deftly that I didn’t last more than a minute before crying out against his smiling mouth. I repaid the favor by going down on my knees and taking him into my mouth, and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes roll back into his head.

After this, Jimmy went back to his bed and I back to mine, though of course I couldn’t sleep. The only thing racing faster than my thoughts was my heart. I knew I’d just put my pawn onto the first square of a dangerous board game, one that would require me to watch my back even more than I already did. But I knew a life-changing opportunity when I saw one. I’d promised to be a part of his fight, of his history. _Whatever you need me to do, I’m available._

From that night on, I could never look at a door that wasn’t quite shut without thinking of Jimmy, and the trust he placed in me; either with fondness, or regret.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not the only one who saw a TON of subtext while watching this fantastic movie.  
> I have to say that the entire time I was writing this, I was thinking "I can't believe I'm shipping Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino". But there you have it.
> 
> The title is from the poem "Postscript" by Seamus Heaney, one of my favorite Irish poets.  
> Please comment if you enjoyed!


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